Heads or Tails
by Oculus Lupus
Summary: "I am about to die..." But he can't do it. He can't take that final step towards the beginning of his 'next great adventure'. He runs. Story up for continuation.


Screams.

He'd always been a hero. He got a kick out of saving people. He lived for it, almost died for it.

He stood outside the door, waiting for the status to change. Right now, two boys had a tart cornered against the wall. One had a knife to her throat, the other kid was just staring into her wide eyes.

He didn't know what to do, if he was honest with himself. It wasn't any of his business. There were a hundred other scenes like this one all across the British aisles. What difference was one girl going to make?

But that part got over-ridden by the more-favourable Harry. The Harry they all knew and loved. He wasn't that Harry any more. Hell, maybe he'd never been and he was just fooling the world... and himself.

He kicked the door in. Stunning was for kids. He dismembered them. He hollowed out their corpses with but a spell and stacked them near some rusty shelving.

The girl's scream cut off abruptly.

And the gravity of his mistake caught up to him.

Bells were set off in a chain reaction. His head was alight with scenarios, possibilities, weak points.

They had him.

So close to a ministry detector. What the hell, Harry?

Pops of appearition. He wrapped his cloak about his shoulders and leveled Draco's former wand at... too many people to count.

"This is the Ministry of Magic!" a voice from outside roared. "Show yourself!"

Harry huffed a quiet laugh. Life and its ironies. Philosophy would get his arse killed one day... today... tomorrow. It didn't matter.

He through off the cloak.

XXXXX|XXXXX|XXXXX

The way Harry figures it, he's always been alone. Sure, he's had Ron and Hermione stick to his side like glu but he's always meant to be alone.

Neither can live while the other survives.

His head emerges from the pensieve and he sinks to his knees, chin resting thoughtfully on his cupped palm.

One hour.

Yeah, he's supposed to be dying, isn't he? That was the plan from the very beginning. He's cool with that. Necessary sacrifice to make.

So he gets up, dons his cloak, and walks out of Dumbledore's office, not looking back.

In the entrance hall, he sees Neville carting Colin's corpse. A royal pain in the arse is Colin but he doesn't deserve to die so young... Then again, neither does Harry.

He's out in the forest, snitch clutched in his fist. "I am about to die..." he whispers.

The snitch cracks open and the deathstone is revealed. He flips it over three times.

"I'm not ready to die," he says. The figures around him shuffle awkwardly from ghostly foot to foot.

And he's telling the truth. He's brave but not that brave. He's foolish and lazy and ignorant, but he's not stupid. Some things just cannot be done. And willingly sacrificing himself for the world, for the fight he has been fighting since he's been out of nappies is one of them.

He's Harry Potter, his own man, not Dumbledore's. As much as it eats at him that he's not like Dumbledore, that he could never measure up, he's come to terms with his actions. The path has been set out, but it's he who walks it, step after step after step.

So Dumbledore's not all to blame. In fact, it's a brilliant move on the old man's part; Harry doesn't blame him. Far from it. A world's survival and a boy? No contest, the boy'd have to die.

His backs against a tree, ignoring the voices that tell him to go forth, to face his destiny. All of these people died for him but that couldn't be helped. He isn't like them. He can't go and face his death voluntarily. No. Stupid. Not like he used to when he was a kid and didn't understand the ramifications of challenging a Dark Lord.

So he waits.

"Reckon he'll come?" A voice in the darkness. Another Death Eater.

"Dunno... Hour's nearly up."

"Yeah, he'll come. He's got balls, Potter does."

He stares down at the watch he had gotten for his seventeenth birthday, life times ago. Five minutes then the game's up.

So it's now or never; heads or tails.

Heads, he walks into the clearing and gets his ticket punched. Tails, he walks back to Hogwarts, summons the beaded bag from Hermione's sock and prepares to run for his life, prepares to shut out the screams as he flees. Prepares to doom his friends to hell or misery.

Harry's brave.

But bravery has its limits.

He chooses tails.

XXXXX|XXXXX|XXXXX

Five minutes later, Hagrid's voice echoes throughout the forest. "Harry! Harry! Where are yer?"

It's a keening wail. Hagrid lets out those wails when his pets die - or in the case of Buckbeak, go missing.

But Harry's already run for the hills, beaded bag tucked into the pocket of his last pair of jeans.

The trees shake as the procession of Death Eaters, led by Voldemort, tares through the forest towards Hogwarts where the wizarding world waits in expectant,grieving silence for their fate. They all know in their heart of hearts that there is no way Harry's gonna pull through this one. Usually, Harry proves them wrong but this time... this time...

Hours later, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Ginny, McGonagall, Slughorn, Kingsley, Bill, Fleur, Charlie and a hundred and something others kneel at Voldemort's feet.

"You'll all take the Dark Mark. You'll all serve me!"

The fight has been squeezed out of them like water from a sponge, leaving them empty, light-weight vessels, shells of their former selves. And Harry? He's probably dead or dying. Who cares. They are all done for.

Heads, they take the Dark Mark. Tails, they die a swift, painless death. Many of them choose to live. Lucius, Narcissa and Draco die. Madam Pomfrey administers to the wounded. McGonagall laments. Her school, Albus's school, their school, their last hope is now dead - permanently.

It's three years until Neville is trusted enough to lead a pack of Death Eaters. Four years until Ron and Hermione have their first baby. But Hermione's a Mudblood, Ron a Blood traitor. The baby's taken from Hermione and dumped in the Hogwarts lake where the giant squid prods at its bloated corpse for days. Hermione and Ron can't ever look at that lake again for fear of seeing their baby's eyes, Hermione's eyes, looking up at them through the clear water with accusation.

In some strange twist of fate, Neville marries Daphne Greengrass and the night before their wedding, his Death Eater crew take him on a night on the town. Fifteen men die by his wand, all muggles. Thirteen women are tortured to death. Four children are let go to run ragged, to become brigands like all the other filthy little kids in the streets.

And of Harry?

No sign. Nobody talks about him. They try not to think of him. They try not to dwell on where his corpse is buried or if, in deed, he's dead at all. But he has to be, right? Harry would never let this happen to them, surely.

After five years, Minerva McGonagall can't take it any more. She's found by a first year student with a wand between her teeth and her brains all over the wall of her transfiguration classroom.

After the sixth year, Ginny's washed out in one of Knocturn's back alleys, getting paid a galleon an hour. She can't face her relatives, her friends, her former professors. Harry leaving broke her, shattered dreams of her future.

For Ginny, it's dreams that had derailed her train. For Neville, it's power. For Ron and Hermione, love. For Minerva McGonagall, dedication.

All of them are broken or dead or kill for what they have lost. Even Harry, who's dancing the waltz. His time's ticking. His angel of death is hunting his invisible, cowardly arse and he knows it.

XXXXX|XXXXX|XXXXX

"You are under arrest for treason and fourteen counts of murder. Come quietly, Potter!"

That was quick thinking on his feet, making up something like that. He had done a lot more. Whoever that guy was outside shouting orders.

The tart cowered against the wall, tremors shaking her thin frame. He didn't have it in him to look at her, to even try and reassure her. Leave it to the ministry to completely fuck up her mind before they even thought of leaving the building. Ignorance is bliss.

He heard more pops of appearition. Backup, most probably. Word spreads fast. Harry Potter was alive and kicking.

He knew the game'd be up one day. It was just a matter of sand through the hourglass.

His wand rose.

Bring it, arseholes. Time to die, to live, to fight.

They stood lining the back wall. Stood looking at him. Stood wands ready to take him down.

The end.

A/N:

This has potential to be a novella or novel-length fic.

So Harry fights his way out of trouble, keeps running and fighting from the shadows.

Or he gets captured and the Dark Lord offers him an ultimatum. Join me or die. This time, Harry can't refuse. So he joins him and gets Fleur, widowed after Bill's death.

Or you can choose an alternative. Up to you.

So if anybody wants to take this, they are more than welcome to write more of this on one condition. Give me the link.

The text can be altered, too, to fit any requirements.

Thanks for reading and do tell me whacha think? :P


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